


Of Arrows and Heels

by MZ_Supermanfan



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Smut, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1989024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MZ_Supermanfan/pseuds/MZ_Supermanfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Olicity Shorts and Drabbles...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Body Heat

**Author's Note:**

> My first go at Arrow fanfiction. I hope you enjoy!

His breath fogged in the night air, his muscles cramping from a mixture of exertion and the cold. But he continued forward, trudging through the knee-high snow, the bundled up woman in his arms tight against his chest. The comms unit in his ear crackled, a dying signal that refused to completely vanish.

Under the snow his foot caught on a rock, causing him to stumble forward. It would have been easy to recover if he wasn't sleep deprived, close to succumbing to hypothermia, and scared to _fucking_ death. Instead, he sprawled forward in the snow, the burden he'd been carrying torn from his arms.

“Shit!” A second later he was kneeling next to her, his eyes methodically searching for injury. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed into slits as he fought to see past the tears that pricked his vision. _No_! He was going to let her die in the goddamn snow! Not in this hell-hole of a country.

They had been through fire and brimstone, left standing in the ashes time and time again. She wouldn't be taken from him, not like this. Not when he hadn't even told her half of what he held in his heart. Summoning what was left of his strength, he jerked her back against him and rose to his feet, his entire body protesting the strain while his mind reveled in the fact that he was still moving. 

Just when he felt his burst of energy start to fade, he heard another cackle in his ear, Digg's voice following,  _“Less than half..kilometer. Eas. Keep moving...iver. East. He...opter... storm clears.”_

He didn't often allow himself to feel hope, but it blossomed in his chest as he clutched her tighter against him, setting one foot in front of the other. It was a fifteen minute trek across a white tundra, the longest fifteen minutes of his life as he gazed at the stars for directional guidance.

In the distance he could see the outline of a building, probably the only shelter for miles. He ground his teeth as the extent of his injuries made itself known as he increased his pace. As he closed the final stretch of distance, he realized it was more a hunting shack than an actual house.

But it was four walls and a floor, which was better than the harsh environment that howled outside.

Before he consciously knew what he was doing, he had already kicked open the wooden door and dropped to his knees, the valuable package that was once pressed against him now laid out across a wood floor.

He fought dizziness, his hands drifting across the wall until they touched a table. Without the moonlight and reflective snow it was frighteningly difficult to see, and even his sense of touch was distorted by gloves. He ripped them off with his teeth, his hands returning to his task.

Glass! Smooth and cold with a metal base. The matches weren't too far, the feel of the abrasive side of the box causing a ragged sigh to escape him. With quaking fingers he managed to strike one. The sudden heat sending pins and needles through numb digits.

The glass lantern comes to life, the room now lit with a soft yellow glow. Unlike his earlier, frantic perusal of the room, he searches it with a slow turn of his head. His eyes land on a small cast-iron boxwood stove.

Heat. She needed it more than him and that thought drove him forward. He tossed cold, but dry, logs into the stove, striking several more matches until a small fire caught at the base. Whatever hunter owned the shack had been sure to keep it well stocked.

Briefly, he wondered if he should be concerned about the owner arriving, but the thought faded just as soon as it appeared. The weather was too rough for hunting and it wasn't likely that any native would risk the trip.

In another corner of the room was a wooden trunk, also dry and also promising. He tore it open, dropping to his knees when he saw the rolled up sleeping bag. His head craned to take in the woman's still form.

What came next was born out of necessity.

He rolled out the sleeping bag, careful to keep the inside dry. The more the room heated, the more he realized how soaked his clothes were. Which meant _she_ wasn't faring any better. Layer by layer, his clothes dropped to a pile in the corner of the room. Until every inch of his flesh was exposed.

The bundle on the floor stirred as he tugged her from a wet blanket. Her gloves came off first, his eyes locked on her hands to check for damage. Her fingers were pale with a bluish tint, but they weren't dark enough to be in danger.

No frostbite. He sighed in relief as he moved to her feet, giving her toes the same visual once-over. Another sigh.

Her jacket joined his. Her shirt. Her socks. Her pants. One article at a time, each accompanied with sighs when he realized she wasn't going to lose any body parts. There was still hypothermia to consider, which led him to fumble with the clasp at her back.

He'd never seen her naked before and if it had been any other circumstance he was sure his mouth would have watered at the sight of her bare breasts. In this circumstance, however, he only looked to make sure nothing had turned black.

Clenching the cotton of her underwear in both hands, he gave a firm tug to rip the side seams. He shuddered, the corners of his vision hazy with exhaustion. The flimsy material in his hand was tossed over his shoulder.

She'd probably freak out in the morning. God.. he hoped she would because that would mean she had energy and that she was alive and that he hadn't failed her _again._

His arm banded around her, pulling her flush against him, chest to chest. He hissed at the contact of her cold skin, but didn't draw back. Slowly, he worked them both into the sleeping bag and zipped it around them.

When they were fully settled inside, his hand found her thigh, pulling it across his leg. He touched her wherever he could reach, his palms sliding hard and fast across her flesh. The friction slowly generated heat, her skin flushed pink.

She shivered against him and he brought his hand to the back of her neck, pushing away wet strands of hair until he could cup her nape and drag her closer to him.

Whispers escaped him, made gruff by his raw throat. “Stay with me, Felicity. Stay with me.” His hands moved up and down her back until his limbs were too heavy to continue. His heart thudded heavy in his chest with fear and worry. It wasn't too much longer before his vision went black and he allowed the darkness to drag him under.

Hard peaks brushed his chest and in an unconscious movement his arm rose so he could cup a warm breast in his hand. Without opening his eyes, he murmured, “Too tired...” Or was he? A feminine leg was anchored across his hip, sexes pressed close enough where soft hair tickled his groin.

He groaned, the hands holding soft flesh kneading gently. In that state between sleep and wakefulness, he embraced the thrum of pleasure that flowed down his spine. His mouth lazily trailed across a collarbone.

An answering gasp brought him swiftly to reality, his eyes snapping open to stare down into wide blue ones. Confused blue ones, with a hint of arousal. For a moment he wondered if she was fully conscious, her body unnaturally still.

His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again to form a tentative, “Felicity?”

“Oliver. Your hand is on my boob. And I'm naked. Why am I naked? Were we captured? And, dear _God_ , is that your... your... why are you naked?” The hand that rested on her thigh swiftly moved up to her hip, holding her back so they were no longer intimately pressed together. Not that it mattered since all modesty had been left behind the night before. 

His teeth ground together from _frustration_ rather than annoyance. “We were freezing.”

Like always, her mouth filter was non-existent. “You are so far from cold-”

“It's a reaction. My body hasn't caught up with my brain that now isn't a _good_ time.” At his words, Felicity tilted her head back to glance around the room. The hand on her hip clamped down harder as her action caused her back to arch, bare breasts teasing his chest once more. “And it won't catch up if you don't stop moving.”

“I'm not the one who took off our underwear!”

It wasn't that he was pissed, but rather she still hadn't stopped fidgeting. His jaw tightened even more as she attempted to roll away from him, her entire right side stroking along his front. “It was soaking wet!”

“That's preferable to Mr. Happy knocking at my front door!” Her face flushed bright red, her hand rising to cover her obvious embarrassment. “On my god, can you unzip this thing please. I gotta get out of here.”

Her hands trailed the hemline of the sleeping bag, a wasted effort when she realized the zipper was situated at Oliver's back. And touching Oliver seemed to be out of the question because the second she made that realization, she tucked herself back on 'her side' of the sleeping bag.

The distance was a blessing, giving him time for his body to cool. If that wasn't enough, the comms unit that was still nestled in his ear sounded, Diggle's voice coming across clear. _“Mr. Happy?”_

A growl escaped him, startling Felicity. He only pointed to his ear as he asked, “Digg, what's your ETA?”

“ _Three hours. Already got a helo prepped. Just waiting on clear skies.”_ Three hours. Enough time to start another fire. Not enough time to have dry clothes. Long enough to warrant staying warm in the sleeping bag. 

“Bring clothes.” Later he would tell Diggle about the mission, but for now he settled on just dealing with Felicity. Felicity who was warm and alive and if he hadn't been so high strung upon waking he would have held her tight until the sounds of helicopters thudded above them.

“He going to be here soon?” Her muffled question brought him back to the present, his eyes focused in on the back of her head. A strand of blond made its way into his hand and he told himself he was just checking to see if it was dry. It was...

“A few hours.” After she nodded, he turned away from her, unzipping the sleeping bag. It drew her from her side, her eyes finding his as she pulled the edge of the sleeping bag around her shoulders. “Rest. I'm just starting another fire.”

The air was nowhere near as cold as the night before, but he still shivered while loading more wood into the boxstove. With the help of a few matches and an old newspaper, it roared to life. A few minutes later and he was climbing back into the warmth of the sleeping bag.

Felicity squeaked when his chest accidentally brushed her back. “Ah! You're freezing.”

“Because it's thirty degrees outside.” Oliver followed the grumbled reply with a sigh, his hands already reaching out for another taste of warmth. He stop millimeters shy of her skin, his hand curling into a fist as it went back to his hip. He wouldn't let himself forget her earlier rejection. Tucking his other hand under his head, he murmured, “Let's just get some rest.”

Rest. There in the confines of a small hunting cabin in Eastern Russia, he found himself more capable of resting than he had been in years. The mansion was too large. The foundry too busy. But for the moment, the only world that existed was the one in a dark green sleeping bag.

His body warmed, nestled inches from hers, his breath landing on the back of her neck.

Comfort. She gave it in spades. Her stead-fast presence in his ever changing world brought him more comfort than he could carry. It made his chest tight just thinking of everything she'd brought into his life.

Even with his eyes closed, he was super-aware. Her breathing was erratic, not quite the rhythm for easing into sleep. With every breath she took the sleeping bag tugged lightly against his back. It didn't bother him, the small movement a reminder of how strong she was. Strong enough to take on enhanced soldiers. Strong enough to survive the tundra. Strong enough to fight him when he was wrong.

Strong enough to fight _for_ him.

Beside him, he felt her shift, a shoulder bumping him back as she rolled over. He opened his eyes into slits, surprised to find her watching him. Her position mirrored his own, her hand tucked against her cheek. She sighed, “I'm sorry I freaked out.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a half smile. “S'ok. I kind of expected a 'freak out'.”

“It's just-” She licked her lips and his eyes opened wider to watch the dart of her tongue. His body tightened and he forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying rather than the way her mouth moved. “-I don't even sleep naked so waking up with no clothes on is an automatic freak out situation. And last night was crazy enough without a blizzard stacked on top. And my nerves are shot and-”

He reached for her then, his thumb stroking her cheek and stopping her short. He knew why she babbled, could see the hint of fear that flickered in her gaze as she thought about the night before. “You're safe now.”

She moved faster than he could anticipate, her arms around his neck a second later. If they had been dressed he would have simply accepted the embrace as gratitude or relief or the aftermath of adrenaline. But neither of them wore a stitch and it was hard to ignore how feminine curves fit so _right_ against his own.

A hard shudder raced down his spine and he swore, the last of his restraint evaporated in her display of affection. Confused by the harsh words that left his mouth, she pulled back, “I'm sorry. I just thought-”

Oliver pushed forward, slanting his lips across Felicity's and captured what was left of her explanation. She stiffened against him in shock and surprise, a tiny quake running through her form that shook them both.

He prepared himself to withdraw, to apologize for violating her space and to weakly blame it on the rising heat of the room. Because what on Earth could possibly have possessed him to do such a thing aside from delirium?

Delirium and desire and desperation. But above all the refusal to let another moment pass where he didn't show her _exactly_ what she meant to him.

He prepared himself for the possibility that this would forever change their relationship, that in three hours a helicopter would arrive and the ride would be followed with a resignation letter. He prepared himself for it because Felicity had once told him to hope for the best and prepare for the worst...

Then her mouth opened against his own and her fingers threaded through the hair on his nape to tug him closer making his preparations vanish along with the cold. His world felt complete and whole and utterly perfect.

For the next few hours he told her without words how she was his and he was hers. Until the helicopter thudded above them.

 


	2. Caught up in the moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver challenges Felicity to a sparring match. Things get out of hand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to be careful with this one because Oliver gets a bit dominant in comparison to the show. I had fun writing it today, though, so I hope you enjoy it!

She felt antsy, built up tension making her fidget more than usual. She attributed it to the fact that Roy and John had been gone for a week now and her training sessions were pushed to the side. It seemed her body had become accustomed to bi-weekly sparring. 

So, it made her antsy, all this energy with nowhere to direct it.

Felicity tapped the side of her coffee mug as she stared at her computer screen, her feet pushing against the floor so she was swivelling from side to side. Behind her she could hear the thud of tennis balls bouncing off the concrete floor, followed by a soft whistle of an arrow.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder, smiling at the yellow spotted wall. It also seemed she wasn't the only one who was affected by John's absence.

As if feeling eyes on him, Oliver turned to look her way, the bow in his hand lowering. He raised a brow as she continued to stare at his shirtless form. A flush spread across her face, but she didn't turn away. Instead she shrugged, muttering, “Gotta find entertainment somehow.”

The corner of his mouth rose, silent laughter showing in the crinkles against his eyes. He jerked his head and pointed at her computer. “How's the search coming?”

“Slowly.” Felicity swivelled back around to set her cup on the desk, her gaze scanning the progress bar on the monitor. “Another hour or so.”

Oliver huffed at her back and she heard a thud as he sent another arrow sailing into the wall. The sound made her jump, despite the fact that she'd been listening to it for half and hour already. Then he was by her side, grumbling, “Would be nice if Digg could give us an update on his end.” 

Yep... she was antsy. She needed a workout. It had nothing to do with being alone with Oliver in the foundry every day for the past week. Nothing at all.

Felicity focused in on her keyboard, typing a string of letters and numbers. If she set an alert then she could take a short jog and work off some of her excess tension without missing the search results. After another series of taps she gave a satisfied nod.

She shifted her attention back to Oliver, watching as he placed his bow on the metal table situated against the wall. His head tilted back to gaze up at the salmon ladder. At least he had ideas on how to keep himself occupied.

Finally, she announced, “I'm going for a run.” Felicity reached for the duffel bag she kept stuffed under her desk.

Before her hand made contact, she felt a firm touch against her shoulder. Oliver's voice came next, his tone incredulous, “It's 10:30 at night and we're not in the safest place in town. You're not going for a run.”

The hand that was inches from the bag closed into a fist in a sudden fit of irritation. A year ago she would have thought his over-protective nature was a trait worth fawning over. Now, after being on the receiving end of it for so long, he simply came across as a dick.

Hadn't she proved time and time again that she could take care of herself?

Through clenched teeth she managed, “Excuse you?”

His own gaze narrowed, his hand dropping from her shoulder. “You want to get mugged?”

“No one's going to mug me, Oliver.”

“In the past month, there's been three women attacked in the neighborhood.” She scoffed at his words. The only reason he even knew that was because _she_ had been keeping tabs on the area.

Though even with her providing the reports, he seemed to miss a couple of details. “Yeah, at two in the morning. _After_ the streetlights have shut off.”

“I tell you what. If you can take me in a match, then you can go for a run.” His challenge stunned her. Not once had she ever sparred against Oliver and not once had he ever suggested it. If it had been any other circumstance she probably would have laughed at the idea.

But she was pissed now and all she could think about were the past six months she'd spent training with John. Her brain screamed at her that she couldn't do it, but her body thrummed with pent up energy and _it_ told her that she stood a chance.

Her mouth opened before she could stop it, forming two syllables. “Okay.”

He hadn't expected her to say yes. She could tell by the way his back went stiff and his hands clenched at his side in frustration. Well if he hadn't expected her to say yes then what else did he think she going to do? Sit down and do what he told her?

_Yeah. Right._

She met his glare, tugging her duffel from under the desk. A silent stand off occurred, his leveled gaze rapt on her face. Of course, she was the first to break, giving an un-ladylike snort as she headed off towards the bathroom.

Behind her, Oliver stalked towards the mats at the far corner of the room, picking up his a-shirt along the way.

When she'd changed into her track shorts and a tank, she met him on the sparring mats. She could hear Diggle's voice in her ear, telling her that once she set foot on the padded surface, it was game on. He'd apparently learned that from sparring with Oliver.

No announcement. No sign that this little _test_ had commenced. Just a quick leg sweep that sent her sprawling on her back. _Most fights end up on the ground._ Another little bit of advice Diggle had left her with. Fortunately for her that meant hours of learning how to get back up. And fast.

Felicity rocked to her shoulders, her palms finding purchase on the mat to thrust herself back to her feet. At least she got to see the flash of surprise on Oliver's face before he attempted his second strike. A cross punch directed at her face.

He was going easy on her. She could tell by the way he pulled his punch and how he wasn't nearly as tense as when he went against Diggle.

It was to her advantage though, because she had enough warning to prepare herself for the following contact. Her feet shifted on the mat, her body rotating in a half circle as she deflected his fist with her forearm. The counter attack brought her close to Oliver, allowing her to continue with a an elbow strike to the side of his head.

His head snapped backwards, just far enough so her blow never struck. It threw off her momentum, sending her stumbling forward a couple of steps. A hand caught her arm, steadying her enough to where she wasn't going to face-plant.

 _It's not over until one of us is on the ground tapping._ Again, John's words came back to her, guiding every step of the fight.

Oliver should have let her go, because a second later, she threw her arm over the attached wrist. It gave her leverage against him, allowed her to keep him close enough to deliver a kick to his side. As her knee connected with his ribs, he grunted.

She went to repeat the attack, but the arm she'd pinned under her own curled inwards. It brought her close to his chest, close enough to hear his uneven breaths. Too close to kick. Too close to punch.

But just the right distance to lock an ankle on the back side of his knee and take them both to the floor. While Oliver looked up at her in shock, she took advantage, tossing her knees on either side of his hips to get into a mount.

_They'll attempt to shrimp if they know what they're doing, but you'll expect that. Move forward. Go for the triangle choke._

Diggle's training only went so far, though. When it came down to it, Oliver was far stronger than her and though he'd held back for most of the fight, it seemed he was done telegraphing every move. While Felicity attempted to shift a knee over his arm, he slid the opposing hand up from her hip to her armpit.

Fast and hard, shoving her off of him. Before she knew it, he was reversing the mount, pinning her with his weight. As he slid an arm under her own, a hand clenching around her wrist, she realized how much he had been holding back.

He was fast. Too fast for her to counter. He was strong. To strong for her to pull from his grip. Slowly, he torqued her arm, pain radiating in her shoulder as he forced it against the joint. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the sight of the back of his head as he continued to apply pressure.

She knew that if he kept going, her shoulder would be dislocated. Still, she didn't tap...

The nails on her other hand caught on his shoulder as she fought against him. His hissed through his teeth, his hold letting up momentarily. His hips thrust against her. It was enough for her to roll into him, for her to garner enough leverage to pull her arm from his grip.

 _You're under him. Get into the guard. Shrimp._ Her palms struck his thigh, creating a gap large enough for her to work a leg free. It was exhausting, but she refused to give in to her body's request to stop. Not when all she had to do was get the other leg free.

Palm strike to his other leg, second leg free. Felicity wrapped her legs around his torso, anchoring them together with crossed ankles. _If you need a breather, the guard is your best chance._ Despite Oliver's strength and size, the guard allowed her significant control over him.

When she pushed her hips, it forced him back. When she dropped them, it brought him close to her. He couldn't attack with ease, but then again neither could she.

Above her, Oliver tucked his elbows in. She knew what he was doing, that he would soon drive them into her inner thighs to break the hold. She dropped her hips and those elbows splayed out to catch his fall.

He grunted again, his weight heavy against her. She could almost see his mind working as he ran his gaze across her. Then his eyes narrowed in focus and he struck. His hands caught her wrists, his taller frame allowing him to pin them on either side of her head.

Startled, Felicity pushed up with her hips, an attempt to force him back. It was useless and frustrating, requiring more energy than she had left. She sighed, dropping her hips back the the ground.

Victory flashed across his face, his arms extending, bringing her wrists with them and stretching her arms. With every inhale, his chest brushed hers. He was so close she could feel his breath fan her face. She locked her eyes onto his, surprised to see them dark and hooded.

 _No. No. No._ She was supposed to be standing her ground. She was supposed to win. She wasn't supposed to be turning him on. And she _certainly_ wasn't supposed to find her body responsive!

She twisted beneath him, tilting her head back to catch a glimpse of his palms wrapped tight around her wrists. Her entire body arched into his and his fingertips tightened against her skin with bruising force. Between her thighs she could feel him shaking.

_His attention is elsewhere. Move fast and with purpose._

The triangle choke. It was her best option from the guard. Except with his arm stretched above her there was no way she could get her leg on his shoulder. Which meant she needed to bring at least one arm down.

Felicity sighed, letting herself go limp. Though Oliver wouldn't give up until she tapped, he would take it as submission and the bruising grip he held on her wrists might let up a tad.

She felt him relax in response, his breath hitting her neck as he remained atop her. _Now!_ She swung one arm across the mat, dragging his wrist with it. He tensed down on her, but only after she'd brought one of his arms down 90 degrees.

She tucked one knee up to her chest, using his body to propel her out from under him. Just far enough so she could hook a leg over his shoulder.

He released her hands, realization dawning. But it happened too late. Her inner knee caught the ankle that was laid across the back of his neck. It forced his shoulder up and his throat into her thigh. His eyes met hers as he slowly rotated his head into where her thigh threatened him with strangulation.

His mouth opened, his gaze rapt on hers. Then he tucked his head, dropped his jaw, and _bit_ her thigh.

It didn't break her skin, stinging just enough for her breath to leave her lungs in a throaty moan. Her ankle slipped from the hold. She dropped to the ground, having not noticed that he'd lifted her bottom half clean from the mats.

A second later and she was tossed onto her stomach, a heavy weight against her back. Forearms pressed down against her shoulders, keeping her restrained against the floor. She could feel Oliver above her, from head to toe.

He set a knee on either side of her own, the weight of his thighs against her bottom.

Her struggle against him was weak and ineffective, drawing out the occasional grunt from the man at her back. Finally, after several minutes of trying to worm her way out from under him, she let herself go limp.

Considering her earlier tactic, it didn't surprise her when Oliver refused to budge. What did surprise her was how _close_ he actually was. Close enough to where she could tell the fight had _excited_ him. His breath hit the back of her neck, his palms flattening against the back of her arms for a gentler hold. In the smallest of movements, she felt his hips rock forward.

She went still, every muscle tensed as she waited for the next move. The arm at her back, slid up and across her shoulder. He moved slowly, his arm banding into position against her neck.

It was over. He had her in a firm choke hold and she could feel his bicep pushing steadily against her throat. She could tap and end it, take her wounded pride and walk out the door.

Or she could let him finish, fight him until all that was left was for him to go through with the choke.

Her breath hitched when she felt him rock against her once more, thoughts of fighting fleeing her mind to be replaced with more heated imagery. She slid her arms out from under her, gripping the forearm still firmly banded around her neck.

Her nails dragged across his skin, not deep enough to draw blood, but firm enough to leave red marks in their wake.

Behind her, Oliver grunted and rocked firmly into her, the motion impossible to mistake, much less ignore. The hand that wasn't occupied in holding her down, landed on her hip, fingers splayed and slipping under her shirt.

For the first time in what felt like hours, she heard Oliver's rough voice against her ear. “You have two options. You tell me to stop, I get up, and we regroup tomorrow. Or...” His tone dropped into a low growl as fingertips drifted down past the hem of her shorts. “Or you can come on my hand. Right here. Right now.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her hands still clenched on the arm at her neck. When she didn't move, save for the uneven rise and fall of her chest, he continued pushing his hand downwards. For as much as she'd excited him during their short lived sparring session, her own body had been equally responsive.

His fingers trailed through a soft triangle of hair, pushing past every barrier they had erected over the years.

She realized that this is why he never sparred with her. He simply couldn't trust himself not to indulge after being so close. Yet tonight he was the one who had challenged her. What did that mean? Did that mean he was ready?

His digits spread, not quiet touching her _there_ yet, but applying pressure on either side. She was shaking, every nerve alive. Again, his voice reached her ear, “ _Felicity_?” There were many things he could be asking when he said her name like that.

But she knew that right now... he just wanted permission. Considering that his arm was still around her neck, it made sense that he wished for something verbal.

She whispered back, fingers digging into his arm. “I didn't say stop.”

Whatever held him back seemed to vanish, his palm brushing across the sensitive flesh between her legs, his fingers delving into wet folds. He swore against her back, as if surprised to find her slick and ready.

Well... he wasn't the only one who was surprised.

She gasped his name, her hips rocking forward, grinding into his palm. Locked in his embrace, she could only endure the onslaught of pleasure that blinded her as his hand firmly worked her. A thumb rotated across the nub at the apex of her thighs, fingers slipped in and out of her core.

At some point he started murmuring against her ear, encouragements to let go and endearments he'd never once voiced before. His lips trailed across the exposed skin of her shoulder, teeth nipping.

His mouth found the spot behind her ear, causing that proverbial explosion of sensory overload. It ran down her spine, her muscles tightening as she clamped her thighs around his hand that never once stopped stroking. His name echoed through the small room as it loudly escaped her.

He withdrew his hand from her after her breathing returned to normal, rolling them over so she rested across his chest. She wanted a shower, but decided that she'd enjoy the feel of his arms around her for just a little while longer.

It was several minutes before he spoke again, his voice still gruff with desire. “I... I didn't mean for that to happen.”

“You knew it would.” Felicity muttered against his chest. “That's why you've never sparred with me before.”

Under her cheek she could feel him shake his head in response. “I've watched you with Digg a hundred times and not once have you fought him like that.”

“Like what?”

“With passion. It makes you...” he trailed off, running a hand down her back before continuing, “Irresistible.”

At that she tilted her head back, tentatively meeting his gaze. “Are you going to start sparring with me now?”

“I don't think there was a time where we weren't sparring.” Then, for the first time ever, he captured her lips in a soul-searing kiss.


	3. Hearing Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief glimpse into Oliver and Felicity as roommates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to go for something a little different. Still smut, so brace for maturity. :)

He had been living in Felicity's apartment for two months now and he had come to learn one very important detail about her.

She hated silence.

It had taken time to get used to the constant noise that passed through the thin walls. If there wasn't background music, then there was a television show. If there wasn't a television show, then it was Felicity singing as she cooked. If she wasn't singing, then she was talking. And he didn't even want to get started on the _tapping_ of keyboards.

At first he thought that the noise would keep him up all night, but, oddly enough, he found himself drifting to sleep to the very light sounds of trickling water that drifted from her bedside mp3 player and through the thin wall of hisroom.

Now, the sounds were something of a comfort. When Oliver stepped into the apartment after a long night of patrolling and he could hear soft music playing from the far end of the hallway, the corner of his mouth would lift because he knew that Felicity was there. 

Ever present along with her noise. 

So, as he quietly opened the front door and entered the living room, he instantly tuned in for the obvious sign of her presence. Silence greeted him, his form going still when he couldn't detect a single sound. 

The lights were off, save for a soft glow that escaped under the door of Felicity's bedroom. If she was gone, then she wouldn't have left her lamp on. So, he wondered, where was the noise?

He briefly re-armed the recently installed security system, taking in the red digits that said it was just past midnight. He frowned and started down the dark hallway, his steps light and quiet. Just as he passed her door, he came to a stop, his hand outstretched just a few inches from the doorknob. 

He didn't touch it though. 

They'd entered into an unspoken agreement since he had started living there. One that meant neither of them entered into the other's bedroom unless bodily harm was imminent. Her bedroom was her sanctuary, a place meant for her and her alone. 

He might have been invited into her home, but he certainly hadn't been invited  _there_ . 

After a minute of contemplation, he dropped his hand and started for his room. Suddenly, a very low sound of distress stopped him in his tracks. Was she sleeping? A nightmare?

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Not after the ordeal with Slade. But it had been a couple of weeks since she'd woke up screaming and he had been under the impression that her sleep schedule had improved. 

His jaw clenched in anger at the reminder that Slade still shadowed over them, even while he was locked away on the island. It took another full minute for that anger to fade enough for him to focus on what was really important. 

At least that small sound told him that she was in her room, which was enough for him to carry on silently into his room. Upon entering, his eyes drifted to the wall that separated his room from Felicity's, as though if he looked hard enough he could see her sprawled across her queen sized bed.

Another soft distressed gasp sounded. 

Maybe it wouldn't be a terrible idea to check on her...

He didn't reach for the door, instead heading for his desk and the tablet that rested in the center. Convincing Felicity to accept the security system had been an uphill battle, but he'd eventually won out, citing how he was still high profile and his presence was a risk to her. And if anything happened to her, he  _needed_ a lead. 

Which meant there were motion sensor cameras facing every exit in the apartment. To include the fire escape window in Felicity's bedroom. He'd only needed to pull up the feed once before, after coming home to an open front door and a missing roommate. Of course, that had been because Felicity was drawn into the neighbor's apartment with the promise of cookies. 

Swiping across the tablet, he entered in his assigned pass-code, the security system soon taking up the entirety of the screen. A dark living room. He swiped it to the side. The balcony doors. Another swipe. The window in his own bedroom. At the edge of the screen he could see himself seated at the desk, the angle of the camera panned partially away from him. 

Another swipe. 

Her room was better lit, a lamp off screen encasing the room in a soft glow. The position of her bed was close to the window, which meant that she was fully in view of the camera as she slept.

Satisfied that everything was in order, his thumb reached for the exit icon. It stopped short when another gasp drifted through the wall. His brow furrowed in confusion as his eyes scanned the video footage. 

She was sprawled across the covers, her face pressed against the pillow with one hand resting above her head. When his gaze drifted further down on the screen, his fingers tightened on the slim chassis of the tablet as he collapsed into his desk chair.

The source of those tiny sounds became clear as he realized what was happening. 

Her other hand was hidden beneath the waist band of her pink pajama bottoms. 

A voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to turn the damn thing off, but his fingers refused to break their hold on the device and his eyes remained riveted on the security feed. The voice grew louder, a dull roar in his ears. 

The ultimate violation of her privacy. 

Unforgivable. 

If he had been anyone else then her small cries would have gone unnoticed and this intimate act would have been hers and hers alone. 

Even as his cheeks flushed with shame, he could feel his body go tight at the images in front of him. Potentially the most erotic images he had ever seen in his life, despite the fact that so little of her skin was shown. 

Perhaps that was why he found himself rock hard and pressing against his zipper. 

Imagination, it seemed, was highly effective when it came to setting him on edge.

In a subconscious attempt to ease the pressure in his jeans, he caught the zipper between his fingers and pulled. Halfway through the motion he stopped, suddenly embracing what he was so close to doing. What the hell was he doing? 

On the screen he could see her back arch, a subtle curl that was accompanied with another one of those short low moans, barely audible through the wall by his bed. His shaft twitched in his pants, his eyes drifting shut.

Scenarios raced through his mind. He could shut off the tablet and leave the apartment, with Felicity none the wiser. He could shut off the tablet and take a very cold shower. He could start with shutting off the damn tablet and not letting this go any further than it had already gone.

But he didn't. 

Oliver just clenched his hands around the device and watched like the sick bastard he was.

He watched as her hand dipped further out of sight and the hand above her head clenched tighter around her pillow. He watched as she rotated her head from side to side, her mouth open in silent cries. 

And he listened. 

He tilted his head to better hear every sigh that drifted through the air, each wavering exhale threatening to strip the last of his control. His fingers twitched, the desire to grip the aching arousal between his legs almost unbearable. 

He could almost picture that which he couldn't see, fingers sliding across wet flesh, dipping into a slick center. 

The tablet made a popping noise as he tightened his hand against the flimsy metal casing. It didn't break, but if he wasn't careful the device wouldn't last much longer. He set it on the desk, freeing his hands. 

That was a mistake. 

At least while he was clutching the tablet, it meant he couldn't...

He finished pulling his zipper down the rest of the way, just to take the edge off. It was the same reason he pulled himself free of his boxers. It was the same reason he clenched a fist around the base of his shaft. 

Nothing more than to take the edge off...

Pleasure shot through him, lightning hot and visceral enough to force a growl from his throat. There was zero justification for what he was doing, but it didn't stop him from stroking the length of his hard-on. 

His eyes went back to the screen on his desk, his knees weak as he watched her jaw drop open. Another stroke, hard and fast. She bit into the pillow.  _Fuck._ He knew what that meant, the knowledge only serving to harden him further.

She was close. 

At her soft mewl, his eyes drifted shut, raw need spurring his pace. 

It never took long when he was alone, the act just a means to relieve tension. 

It was damn near instant with the added visual stimulation. His free hand tugged his shirt just as the orgasm ripped through him. A groan escaped him, low and loud, as hot thick liquid spurted onto his tee.

Reality came crashing back as he came down from the blissful high that left him languid in the chair. He hadn't been quiet. Felicity was obviously awake. And he was still logged into the security system. 

Running a shaking hand through his hair, he picked up the tablet, swiping the entire program closed. For all his training and stamina, he was surprised to find himself drawing in long deep breaths to calm his heart. 

Whatever had just happened... it could never happen again. Tomorrow he'd recommend moving the cameras, make up some excuse about being able to see further out of the building. 

Because next time if he came home and she was self... engaged, then he wasn't sure what would keep him from entering her room and giving her a pleasure that takes two. 

He'd just tossed his shirt into a pile of dirty clothes and tucked himself back into his pants when a soft knock sounded on his door. Like a deer in the headlights he just stared at it with wide eyes. 

“Oliver?” Felicity's gentle voice was muffled through the door, but he could still hear the concern hidden there. “Are you alright?” 

No. He was far from alright though he had no plans to tell her the reason for his turmoil. Instead he said, “Nightmare.” The lie came with ease, his voice gruff enough to hide the truth.

Again, she asked through the door, “Oh. Everything good?” 

“Fine.” He tried to sound tired, “I'm just gonna... go back to sleep.” 

“Okay. If you need anything, well, I'll be in my room.” His shaft twitched in his pants...

It seemed the noise in the apartment might drive him crazy after all.


	4. Hearing Things Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A loose continuation of Hearing Things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short compared to the other drabbles. I wrote several versions before going with this copy.

Oliver was always so quiet. It had taken time for Felicity to become accustomed to him, for her not to start every time he'd suddenly appear behind her. In a way, his stealthiness had improved her once non-existent situational awareness.

She now noticed simple things, like the changing shadow of an opening door or the barely perceivable sound of his footsteps. This little observations weren't solely limited to her apartment either.

Lately, she had found she could even feel his presence in the new lair. She rarely jumped when his hand landed on her shoulder. She rarely squeaked in surprise when he reached past her field of vision to grab something from her desk.

So, when she was huddled over her tablet in the server room of the lair, trying desperately to upgrade the system firewalls, she knew the exact moment Oliver had arrived, his footsteps light as he walked down the staircase. If she hadn't been so engrossed in her code, she would have went out to greet him, but as it was she merely continued with the upgrades.

She probably should have said something.

Walked out and waved hello.

Been just a touch louder as she tapped the keypad of her tablet.

Anything to alert him to her presence in the lair.

Because when she walked out of the server room it became very clear that Oliver had no idea she was even down there.

She heard the trickle of water first, but didn't think much of it since it wasn't the first time someone had used the shower located in the corner of the room. It was old and rusty, but there was a small hot water heater and a circular curtain for that added privacy.

Except Oliver had only pulled the curtain half-way since it would otherwise block sight of the main staircase. Which left her with the unhindered view of a very _naked_ and _wet_ Oliver Queen. And he wasn't just showering. 

She'd seen him half-naked at least a million times, a sight which usually had her mouth watering. This, however, made  _other_ parts of her water. 

His head was bowed, a forearm braced against the wall, muscles flexed in strain. Rivets of water ran down the back of his neck, forking at his shoulder so one stream ran down his front, while another made tracks along his back. His very naked, Adonis-like, back. 

And butt. She wouldn't ever forget the sight of Oliver's butt.

His eyes were clenched shut, another reason why he didn't even seem to acknowledge her presence. 

Of course she had the feeling that most of his concentration was diverted to where his tightened fist met engorged flesh. 

Felicity felt absolutely mortified. And aroused. And a bit on the naughty side considering she had yet to even  _look away_ ! 

Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide as she watched him stroke  _himself_ from base to tip in a slow and controlled motion. She couldn't help but think that his 'base to tip' was rather impressive. He repeated the action, this time a touch more rough, and she watched as a shudder raced down his spine. She could almost hear a stifled groan, a sound which caused a tremor to run down her own body. 

As if suddenly realizing that she  _really_ shouldn't be doing this, she clapped a hand over her eyes to block out the sight. 

Until her fingers split into pairs and separated, allowing another quick peek of Oliver. 

His motions were faster now, less controlled and closing in on erratic. Though Felicity wasn't near as experience as Oliver, she knew damn well what those movements signified. The muscles in his back went tight and she had the sudden desire to run her nails down what she knew would be hard cords of flesh. 

Instead she simply clenched her fist so those nails would be otherwise occupied. 

She knew that watching him wasn't a nice thing to do, that she wouldn't be able to keep from picturing it later and eventually blabbing about it right out into the open. But even that knowledge wasn't enough to draw her from her firmly rooted spot that allowed such a  _wonderful_ view.

She could tell the exact moment that he reached climax, his body sagging forward and his mouth dropping open in a harsh, but silent, exhale. The hand fisted around that impressive length slowed it's motions to a few gentle tugs. 

It should have been her cue to beat feet and get the hell out of sight. 

It should have been...

But Oliver's concentration returned to normal sooner than expected and her presence became known almost immediately after. He cocked his head to the side, the corner of his mouth going tight as his now open eyes took in her motionless form. 

The water still ran over him. 

His hand still held a now eased arousal. 

He was the first to break the thick silence between them, his voice gruff and raw and just as arousing as his  _ display _ had been. “If you keep staring at me like that, I'm going to need another shower.”

She squeaked. 

 


	5. Under Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver's arrested. By Felicity...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this little bit last night.

“Place your hands behind your back.” He wasn't sure why that command made a sharp bolt of arousal shoot through his groin. Perhaps it was the authoritative tone in which it was delivered. Perhaps it was because it was followed by a quick hard kick against the inside of his foot that forced his legs apart.

Or perhaps it was because Felicity was the uniformed woman that stood behind him, twirling a pair of handcuffs around manicured fingernails.

Felicity Smoak. IT genius extraordinaire. Who moonlit as a vigilante's sidekick. Who had somehow managed to get a very authentic SCPD uniform and was doing a damn good job at playing the part. The mental image of her donning the cap and badge wasn't likely to fade any time soon, that's for sure.

He fisted his hands, put them at the small of his back, and waited. Cold metal touched both wrists, almost simultaneously. He wondered where she'd learned the proper technique for applying handcuffs, then figured that Digg must have trained her with them at some point.

He certainly hadn't taught her that.

Nor did he teach her the frisk the followed.

Oliver was shoved forcefully, or as much force as Felicity could muster, into the side of the cop car, then he felt a pair of hands grabbing at his ankle. And sliding up.

And up.

And all the way up.

A pat on the front pocket came next, then a scrunch of the material. Her small hand reached into his pocket, coming mighty close to the growing bulge in his pants and causing him to hold his breath. She palmed his cell-phone before continuing up his dress shirt.

For a brief moment, her finger paused on one of the buttons.

He pushed himself further against the car, hoping the contact would ground him to reality instead of the fantasies that flash through his mind.

She repeated the action on his other half, this time taking the keys to his motorcycle. Then there was the belt search, her hands fisting around the brown leather strap at the back of his waist. Her fingernails scratched the skin just under the band of his boxer-briefs. He jerked against the cuffs, earning another hard shove.

When did she get so violent?

“Don't be a baby, Oliver.” He grunted at her whisper next to his ear, realizing he'd voiced that last thought out loud. But other than that he kept his mouth shut, unwilling to risk possible damage to his person.

Her hand clenched around his shoulder, tugging him backwards away from the passenger door of the car. If he hadn't spent years working on his balance, and years of getting arrested enough to know the drill, he might have fallen. Despite the fact that this was doing a serious number on his libido, he managed to narrow his eyes at her when she threw open the back seat door.

She cupped the back of his head with her hand, making sure he wouldn't hit the frame as she tucked him inside the squad car. The gentleness didn't last as she pushed hard against his shoulder so she could slip the seatbelt over him.

Her hand passed dangerously close to the hard on that refused to go anywhere. When they got back to the lair, he was going to confiscate that damn police uniform and burn it...

The back door slammed shut and a moment later Felicity was sliding into the driver's seat, her head cocked as she flipped switches on the dashboard.

It wasn't until they were driving that he spoke up, his voice harsh enough to match the mixed emotions that warred within. Relief that Felicity had saved his ass. Irritation that she'd been a little too aggressive. And lust for the exact same reason as the irritation. “You gonna tell me what happened back there?”

She met his eyes in the rear view, “Um, a thank you would suffice.”

“I'm serious. I told you not to get involved tonight.” Because tonight required Oliver's full attention and having Felicity on his arm or in his ear would have a distraction he couldn't afford. Not when all he wanted to do lately was touch her. Kiss her. All the things he'd told himself were a bad idea...

With her eyes alternating between the road and the rear-view mirror, she admonished, “And I told you that you'd end up in jail and compromise everything. You're not the only one on the line here.”

Of course she was right. Felicity was always right. He grunted, shifting his arms behind him so the cuffs weren't digging into his back. “Where did you get the car?”

“Stole it.” He wasn't sure if it was pride that made his chest swell, or genuine shock. Felicity, his IT girl, had stolen a police car?

“From where?”

She gave an annoyed sigh, as if the answer would be obvious. “The police department.”

His eyes went wide as he scoffed, “And you think I'm being reckless?”

“I'll return it. And I've already handled the video feed. What can't be erased is you sitting in jail for the night. You're needed in two hours to help save people.”

“Hmph.”

There was annoyance in her voice when she called back to him, “Still waiting on that thank you.”

“Thank you.” Then after a beat, he added, “You manhandled me back there.”

“Because if I didn't frisk you then the _real_ cops standing around would get suspicious.” Again, she was right. If she hadn't went through with the search he'd likely be in someone else's cruiser along side Felicity.

For impersonating an officer. Which reminded him. “What's with the uniform?”

“Stole that too.” Yep. The swelling in his chest was pride.

“From the police department?”

Another annoyed sigh. “ _No._ From the dry cleaners.”

“You're taking it back. Tomorrow.” Because he wasn't sure he could be held accountable for his actions if he saw her wearing it again.

“No, I'm not.” Her hard stare in the rear view told him not to argue. “Do you know how long it took to find someone my size and how long I had to wait for them to take in multiple uniforms? Besides, I plan to use it for some role play later.”

“Ha!” His barked laugh earned him a raised brow in the rear view mirror.

“No. I'm serious. Why do you think I learned to give a frisk?”

His dick pressed painfully hard against his zipper. Had she seriously learned to give a frisk so she could role play at being a cop? “Get me out of this car.”

“We can't stop here.”

He growled, “Now, Felicity.”

She pulled over and slammed the car into park, jumping out only to stalk around to his door. The second she unsnapped his seatbelt, he darted out, circling around her until her back was pressed against the side of the trunk. Her earlier confidence was gone, her eyes wide as he narrowed in on her.

Even with his hands in cuffs he managed to pin her in place, a knee wedging between those police blue covered thighs.

There, on the side of the street, riding that fine line between anger and arousal, he slanted his lips hard across hers. Her hands caught the collar of his shirt, fisting tightly into the material. Though she responded instantly to the kiss, it seemed her mind took a moment to catch up to the situation.

A second later she was shoving him back. Her confused gaze locked onto his dark one.

“I didn't know getting arrested turned you on.” The thought drifted through Oliver's mind that there was a first time for everything. Once upon a time he didn't know that _ponytails_ did a number on him..

“I guess that depends on who's doing the arresting.” Then he kissed her again.

She returned the car after dropping him off a few blocks from the lair, promising that no evidence would link back to her. And when he went on his mission to 'save lives' two hours later, he found that she wasn't a distraction. She was a purpose. A drive. To do better and to be better. And to come back to her.

He didn't even make her get rid of the uniform.


	6. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity stands by Oliver when he needs her the most.

He's never felt so helpless in his life. His fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, an irritated huff escaping his lips when he can't find the tiny hole for them to slip through. He pauses, takes a second to calm his rising nerves, then tries again with better success.

Or so he thinks until he can hear Felicity sigh in front of him, her hands replacing his to undo the last few buttons. “You missed a button.” It's all she says as she sets the shirt to rights. He finds himself annoyed that this is how he'll spend the rest of his week.

Having Felicity make sure that his buttons are straight.

Then her hands are smoothing out the fabric across his chest. He hopes she can't see the way his mouth tightens in frustration. He hopes she can't see his hands clench in mild anger at the entire situation.

But he understands his hopes are for naught, because _he's_ the one who is temporarily blind while her vision is just fine. S he places a palm against his cheek in gentle reassurance, telling him without words that everything is going to be just fine. It's the touch that really does him in, the anger and frustration leaving with a small sigh.

“Thank you.” Her hand leaves him and he can almost picture her smiling up at him with a flush on her cheeks. Just the mental image causes a ghost of a smile to spread across his one face.

“Well, you've saved my life over and over. Least I can do is make sure you're presentable.” She's working on his tie now, slipping it under his collar and knotting it at his throat. It's not too loose and not too tight, just snug enough to tell him that she's done this before.

“Of all the things I can do right now, I didn't think dressing wouldn't be one of them.” Because he can even fight blindfolded.

“I'll lay out a t-shirt next time.”

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards at the thought of him strolling through QC in a pair of jeans and a shirt featuring a rock band logo. His brow lifts as he counters, “Not sure it would be appropriate for work.”

She laughs, “I'll make sure it's a really nice tee.”

Then she's placing a leather strap in his hand. He automatically slides it between his thumb and forefinger until the cool metal of the buckle is in his palm. Her footsteps sound, getting gentler by the second, and he realizes that she's left the room.

As he finishes dressing, he thinks of how lucky he is that the flash grenade didn't take out more than his vision and how even that will return in just a matter of time. He thinks of how lucky he is that Felicity has insisted on staying at the mansion with him, because there's no one he trusts more to preserve his dignity.

But all the knowledge of how lucky he is doesn't really negate the frustration he feels on the fact that he's almost entirely reliant upon _someone_ for the next six days and counting. 

By the time he's done donning his suit, he can hear her footsteps once more. He turns to face her direction, his arms spread. “How do I look?”

“Handsome as ever. Except for...” She's touching him again, this time her finger is at his temple, right next to the thin black mask that's covering both eyes. He jerks back a little at the contact, earning a quick apology. “Sorry. Bruising. I can cover it up if you want.”

“No. It's fine. What's a little bruising compared to..,” He trails off, waving a hand in front of his face to indicate the black eye mask. Felicity has already reminded him that he still looks good regardless, but he'll just have to wait to see the photos when he gets better.

She reminds him again just before they arrive at a Queen hosted charity event.

Photos are taken. He knows because he can hear the click of cameras and Felicity, who has been guiding him through the room, tightens her hand around his arm in her own form of anger. He tells her it's alright, that this will help him maintain his cover.

Because a blind man can't shoot arrows and Diggle's using this time to do the Arrow's work.

He gets tired just a few hours into the event, all his senses working overdrive to compensate for his loss in vision. And, of course, Felicity has already realized how exhausted he is and gives the guests excuses for their departure.

After he is guided back into his room, his hands find a set of clothes resting on his bedspread. He ignores the underwear and the t-shirt and pulls on the drawstring sweats.

He tries to sleep, but every sound startles him back into alertness. Doors shutting. Footsteps in the hallway. The grandfather clock just outside his room ticks louder than ever. And the wind whistles as it hits trees outside.

He gives up, tentatively rolls over on the bed so his feet can touch the floor. He's made it ten steps before his shin hits the shelving on the wall table not too far from his door. A hiss escapes through his teeth, his palm finding the surface of the wall.

And that's how she finds him.

Head bowed, hands braced against the wall, and fresh bruising on his leg.

“Oliver. Where are you going?” There's concern in her voice and it's said in a slow murmur that signifies sleep. He can't help but feel bad that he woke her, but he also can't help but feel relieved that she's with him.

“Anywhere but here.”

“The mansion?” She's confused now, sleep rapidly fading from her voice.

“The room. Its... loud.” There's a beat of silence between them and then he hears her approach. A moment later one hand lands on his bare shoulder while the other grasps his arm. She's tugging him forward and for once the sounds fade into the background because he knows that she won't let him run into anything or anyone.

He almost laughs because usually she's the one who feels safe next to him.

Her touch is constant and he hones in on the sensation, the very slight dig of her nails on his arm when she maneuvers him around an unseen barrier, the smooth open palm that's heating his shoulder. She gives him a single pat on the back and then her hands are gone, her steps fading.

A door shuts. Her door.

He knows it's her room when he slowly makes his way further inside and his knees bump a bed. Everything smells like her, a hint of lavender drifting up from the bedspread and pillows.

One of his hand clutches the bedspread as he wonder why she brought him there. She reads him well and before he even asks, she answers, “It's quieter in here. No windows.”

She brushes against his shoulder and he hears the ruffle of the covers as they're pulled back. Then he's climbing onto the bed, practically collapsing with exhaustion. The night before he'd barely managed two hours of rest. It's all catching up to him now.

He hoped for more as his head hit a down pillow.

“Get some rest, Oliver. And don't go wandering off, okay?” She's far. Not next to him or next to the bed. She's somewhere on the other side of the room and the thought makes him frown.

“Felicity?” He hates how his voice shows that he _needs_ something.

Before he can ask her to stay, he feels the bed dip slightly and that hint of lavender is made stronger. Instinctively, his arm stretches out, his hand patting the material of the blanket before it encounters soft strands of hair. There's over two feet of distance between them, but she's close enough to where he lets himself relax. 

She murmurs, her breath hitting the back of his hand that's still touching her hair, “Go to sleep.” 

The command is one he cannot ignore. His breathing evens out long before hers. 

Someone's shouting and it brings him harshly to reality. The darkness is overwhelming and his heart thuds in his chest as he sits up and scoots back against the headboard. It takes several deep breaths for him to realize it's dark because he's still wearing the patch over his eyes. 

And the shouting came from him. 

The images from the nightmare are long gone, but he's still shaking as he hears a soft voice next to him. “Hey. You're safe. You're home.” 

Felicity. 

He turns towards her, suddenly afraid that he might have hurt her and he wouldn't even know it because he  _can't_ see her. So he asks, his tone raw and pleading, “Did I hurt you?”

“No. I know better than to touch you during a nightmare.” That statement tells him that it was a very bad idea to ask her to sleep beside him. He drops his head in his hands and gives a ragged sigh. Even knowing what could have happened, he can't bring himself to get out of bed. 

Because he feels her hand on his shoulder, then her arm behind his neck, and she's holding him and guiding him through the aftermath. 

His arms band around her, clutching tight enough to tell her that he needs this and it's perfect and even though he can't see her, just feeling her is enough to chase back invisible demons. They stay like that for a few minutes, her head tucked under his chin as his heart calms. 

He's not sure if it's the fact that he can't see her, but she's far more tactile with him than usual. 

He responds to it, not in a vicious tug of desire, but in a slow pull. It starts with the fact that his hand is on bare skin save a thin strap on her shoulder. His mind conjures up mental images of what she could be wearing and all he can think about is how his heart is once more beating rapidly, but this time it's not from fear. 

In his arms, he feels her draw back, the arm around his neck going slack. He lets her go, because he knows it's not right to use her like this when he has so little to give back. 

Maybe later, but not when-

Her hand ghosts over his bare chest, right above his pounding heart, and his mind goes blank. Fingertips trail across his pectorals, the muscles tensing at the light touch. A shudder rolls down his spine and then the hand is gone. 

She doesn't explain, doesn't tell him  _why_ she was touching him like that. He wonders if it was curiosity or a tease, but he keeps his jaw clenched shut and just turns his head to the side instead of asking. It's better that he remains in the dark because now isn't the best time to drive a wedge between them. 

Not when he needs her for something as simple as buttoning a shirt. Or when he needs her to fall asleep at night. 

The heat of her body is gone and he feels the bed shift as she moves around. He hears her give a tired sigh and she tells him, “It's still early. Can you get a few more hours of sleep or do you want to work out?”

“I'll work out.” Sleeping isn't an option now and all his pent up energy can at least be directed _somewhere._

He does a series of push-ups, sit-ups, and obliques. Without weights or the ladder it's not enough to be considered strenuous, but it takes long enough for Felicity to drift once more into slumber. At least one of them will be well rested enough to face the world.

He moves with caution, following the wall until he is stepping from carpet onto tile. He manages to get a bath started, since showering is off limits until the eye patches comes off. There's a small victory in being able to handle this on his own.

He's neck deep in warm water when her footsteps sound and signal her approach. The water sloshes over the rim as he sits up suddenly and puts his hands over his groin. “Felicity?” 

“I'm just bringing your clothes. Don't worry, I won't peek.” There's a smile on her face. He may not be able to see it, but he can hear it. 

His head cocks to the side because she's not leaving and he can still hear her breathing somewhere in the bathroom. “Something wrong?” 

“No. The bruising looks better.” His ears turn a shade of red because he realizes that she's been looking at him since she walked into the bathroom. Sure, she's seen him half-naked a hundred times, but he's in the bathtub with only his hands standing between them and it feels far more intimate than ever. 

“I thought you weren't going to peek.”

“You're covering the important bits.” He laughs and he hears an answering chuckle. It's strange how he's able to find enjoyment right now, but he does and he knows that she's one of the few who can force him to let go just a little. 

His laughter dies, but he's grinning. 

“I'll just leave these on the counter.” She's walking again, pacing to the sink and then to the open door. 

The day proves to be far easier than the day before. As promised, she left him clothes that were simple to manage. A polo shirt and, he's almost certain, khakis. She's shifted appointments for him, taking his time at QC down to just a couple of hours. 

He's sure that people are staring, but the cover story they invented is solid enough to where questions are easy to answer. 

He doesn't feel helpless for almost the entire day. 

Until it's time to go to bed and he's reaching across his sheets and searching for soft strands of hair. 

Somehow he makes it to her door, counting steps and door frames until he's knocking and she's answering. 

He may not have felt helpless for most of the day, but she'd barely touched him and for some reason it's weighing on his mind. Because even when he's not blind, she's his right hand. She's steering him away from the collision. She's suiting him up. 

Two days of no sight and he's beginning to understand that she's always watching when he isn't. It's just taken losing his vision for him to finally see. 

His hand reaches out into the darkness towards where he can hear her breathing and she's there, a palm against his shoulder, propelling him forward until they're on the bed that smells like her. 

He's touching skin, her breath hitches. His fingers slide until he's certain that he's holding her chin. His thumb brushes the corner of her mouth. Before he guides lips to hers, he hears her asking, “Are you alright?” 

And he answers, “I'm helpless without you.” 

 


	7. End of the Rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday night is dedicated to escape training...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this one almost finished and am using it to help boost my desire to write on 'A Different Course'. Just some fun. :)

Oliver kept his eyes closed as he faked unconsciousness. His other senses seemed to heighten in response to the lack of visual stimulus. He could smell her perfume as she leaned over him. He could hear the rustle of her skirt. Goosebumps rose on his arm when her hand encircled his limp wrist to move it to his back.

It started as a simple exercise. In their line of work it wasn't uncommon for one of them to find themselves bound by the enemy. Oliver had woken often enough to the feeling of ropes digging into his skin, his movements restricted, so it made sense that he would add _escape_ to his training. 

On Thursday nights when Diggle was with Lyla and the baby and Oliver was short a sparring partner, he'd hand a length of rope to Felicity and ask her to tie him up. He didn't direct her on how, simply trusted that she'd attempt something new.

And Felicity had become quite adept at keeping up with the weekly regiment. It wasn't until the intricate  _Dragonfly Sleeve_ that he started to wonder where she came up with the knots and rope-work. The nonchalant answer she had tossed over her shoulder changed the entire nature of the training.

“ _BDSM website.”_

That answer was the reason he was fighting to keep his breathing even as she looped the rope around his wrists. Had she learned how to do this from a website, too? Had the video been sexual or simply instructional? The questions filtered through his mind as she gently pushed against his shoulder.

Still keeping up with the false unconsciousness, he allowed her to roll him onto his stomach. It wasn't the first time that she'd had to move him in order to bind him, but it was the first time that he noticed how the cool concrete contrasted so sharply to the warmth of the hand that was flat on his bare shoulder.

Fingers caught his wrist, bringing it to meet the already wrapped one at the small of his back. Knuckles brushed against the skin above his waistband, a huff of air escaping him at the contact. He didn't open his eyes though, and other than the changes in his breathing he maintained the premise of a knocked out vigilante.

Though knocked out vigilantes didn't usually get erections while their executive assistants tied them up.

For training purposes.

She caught his ankle next, crossing it over the other. It clued him in to the tie she was going for, helped him to mentally prepare for when she connected his wrists to his ankles.

The hogtie. It was a familiar one, though her knotting was gentler on his skin in comparison to the other times he'd been bound like this. Snug without cutting off circulation. Flat enough not to leave scoring. He tried to focus on the details rather than the fact that she was tying him up based on a _possibly_ pornographic video.

She rolled him over to his side before she removed the slack in the rope between his wrist and ankles, taking away some of the strain when he was forced to bow his back. The position left him at her mercy, even more so when she set the blindfold around his eyes and tied it at the back of his head.

It started as a simple training exercise and had become the most excruciating form of torture he'd ever faced.

Sexual frustration all because of a single answer.

A palm touched his chest and he craned his neck in Felicity's direction, fighting back the groan that rose in his throat. It turned into a grunt when her other hand gripped his arm and pulled him from his sideways position on the floor and up into a kneeling position. Her foot separated his knees, widening them until he was able to balance without her assistance. His fingertips splayed to rest on his heels for further purchase.

And there she left him. Blindfolded, hogtied, and on his knees before her. A mental image sprung to mind, one where her leg was anchored over his shoulder and his mouth was buried between her legs and her fingers were gripping his hair. The thought pulled a hiss from his teeth because never in all his fantasies had he been the submissive one and the sudden change caused an immediate visceral reaction in his groin.

He waited with waning patience for the tap on his cheek that signified the start of his escape attempt. Because he wasn't sure how much longer he could contain the growing ache that was building with every stray thought connected to whatever website she'd been visiting.

“Oliver? Are you alright?” At the sound of her concerned voice to his direct left, he turned his head.

“What?” After spending so much time trying to restrain himself from making noise, his voice came out raw and low, scratching at his throat.

Her hand lightly touched his shoulder and he felt himself jerk back at the contact. Only her gentle grip kept him from falling over. _God, she'd tied him well..._

“You're shaking.” He realized that he was, tiny quakes running down his arms and back, made more noticeable in comparison to her steady hand. If she could see the tremors that wracked him, then there was no doubt that she could see the physical reaction of this particular exercise. He sucked in a quick breath at the thought of her staring at him, helpless and aroused.

The sudden need to put his hands over his crotch had him pulling against the ropes. But there was practically zero slack and he simply curled his hands into fists in order to focus his control.

Suddenly, her heels were clicking against the concrete as she walked away from him. “I'm cutting the rope.”

“No!” The sharp answer came before he could stop it. If he had been capable of using his higher judgment he would have just kept silent, let her cut the ropes, and get the hell out of the lair. Instead he simply justified his first answer. “I can get free. I've done this before.”

“You look like you're in pain.”

He barked out a laugh. She had no idea. Absolutely none. Oh... it was painful, alright, but not in the way she was assuming.

“Oliver?” It was said on the end of a breath, hushed and confused. A hand touched his chest, causing the muscles to ripple in response. “Um. I don't want this to come out wrong, but it probably will anyways so I'll just come out with it. Do you need me to unbutton your pants before you lose circulation to an important part of your anatomy?”

_Fuck._ Was this in the video too? 

The hand on his chest vanished as she asked, “What video?”

Apparently his mouth filter was long gone just like his good sense because he just snarled back, “Whatever  _goddamn_ video you watched to learn the hogtie.” 

“Oh. It wasn't a video. It was just a set of instructions. And some pictures. But everyone was clothed so it's not really sexual.”

Since they were past the point of ignoring Oliver's hardening shaft, he muttered, “It feels really sexual right now.”

She was quiet for a minute, then broke the silence with a confused, “We've been doing this for weeks and this hasn't been an issue before.”

The confusion in her tone made him roll his eyes. How was it that she couldn't see what had him so worked up? “That was before you told me you were looking at  _porn_ to learn how to tie me up!” 

Defensively, she snapped, “It's not porn and why didn't you tell me this was a problem?”

“I didn't realize it would be a problem until you put your hands all over me, tied me up, and blindfolded me.”

“Oliver, this isn't the first time I've tied you up.” And all he can hear is the unspoken statement of 'and it won't be the last.' It caused a roar to sound in his ears, the stimulus too much against his already strained control.

“ _Damn it!”_ He swore through his teeth, his eyes blinking against darkness across his gaze. “I'm done. Cut me out. Untie me. Touch me. Just do _something._ ”

“That's a lot of options.”

“Fe-li-ci-ty.”

“Alright. Just wait here.” He wanted to shout at her back, where the hell was he gonna go, but this time he managed to keep his mouth shut.

The clicking of her heels was the only sound that reached him aside from his labored breathing. Then he heard the sound of a door opening and closing and Felicity's heels were no longer heard. The silence didn't last long though, just a few minutes until the door opened once more and she was walking back towards him.

Shock enveloped him a few seconds later, a gallon's worth of ice cold water drenching him from head to toe. Cold drops still dripped from his hair, landing on his stomach to create a freezing path downwards. His muscles tensed at the onslaught, his body vibrating as he sputtered, “What the hell, Felicity!?”

“It's a cold shower. Which you apparently needed in order to focus on _escaping._ ” He realized with a start that she was right. His body was cool now, instead of a furnace. His mind was grounded, instead of being locked in fantasy. And the ache in his groin was as doused as he was. 

The ties of his wrist bit into him as he began the struggle to get free. Without his brain being occupied by torturous thoughts, he was able to focus on getting his fingers into the knots that restrained him. He lost his balance at one point, ending up on his side, but that made it easier to capture the ankle bindings and work them free.

After that it was all down-hill.

The ropes loosened their hold and ended up on the floor minutes later, the blindfold ripped off to land on the small pile. Felicity's eyes met his across the room, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and Oliver finally rocked to his feet.

“Ya know, Oliver, if you wanted to experiment all you had to do was ask.”

So much for the cold shower...


End file.
